


Candlelight

by scholarlydragon



Category: Lore Olympus (Webcomic)
Genre: F/M, Sweet, coming home, married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2020-04-23 20:22:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19158304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scholarlydragon/pseuds/scholarlydragon
Summary: Reunion and renewal. Persephone comes home.





	Candlelight

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Alulah for editing suggestions, to Lightspeed Goddess for the moonlight analogy, and to all my beta readers for your fervent support. 
> 
> I’d get much less done without your encouragement.

He comes to me by candlelight.

Pausing in the doorway, the wavering glow from the taper he holds throwing dancing shadows on the walls, he watches me for a moment. The gentle illumination shows the soft smile on his face, the same smile that curves my own lips. The candlelight lines his body with blurred shadows. He is naked, as am I, clothing shed the moment we had returned home, discarded as an unwanted hindrance after months of separation. Now that the obstacle of time was no longer between us, we had swiftly removed all other barriers we could.

We are far from strangers, he and I. By now, we each know the other, as well as we know ourselves. But there is something special, something almost sacred, about the first night after I return from the mortal realm. This time of reconnection is a wordless renewal of vows, affirmed every year as leaves fall from the trees and the first snows blanket the ground. A promise to cling to when spring forces us apart once more.

I watch my love as he moves across the room, lean and athletic body moving with unconscious grace, approaching the bed where I wait.  _ Our _ bed. It’s still a little strange to think of, even after all this time. Our bed, that I share with this king among gods, my husband. There is still a part of me that feels like the naive village girl, amazed at the idea that I could have ever become a queen. But here, these titles do not matter. Here, he is not a king and I am not a queen. He is simply Hades and I am simply…

“Kore,” he whispers, placing the candle onto the bedside table and sitting on the bed next to where I recline. He reaches out with one hand and traces his fingertips slowly over the lines and curves of my face. I was a little surprised the first time he did this, that first time I returned from the mortal realm. After all, we had known each other, in every respect, for long enough that such tentative contact was long past.

When I asked, he had been sheepish, diffident but forthright. He had told me that he wanted to relearn all of me after so long apart. His blush and the sweet sentiment had been endearing and so this had become part of our ritual, a gentle exploration to welcome me home.

His fingers sweep over my face, feather-light touches outlining brow and cheekbones, nose and lips. I watch him, closing my eyes only as he brushes over the lids. His face is intent yet serene. I know there must be need bubbling beneath the surface. The months of separation are difficult in many ways, and I can see the evidence of his long-stifled desire. But it does not show on his face. The only emotion apparent in his expression is the same deep contentment I feel swelling inside me. We know our other needs will be sated in time. This moment is for quiet celebration of the fact that we are together once more.

Having mapped the contours of my face, his hand cups gently around my cheek and he leans down, stretching his body out alongside mine on the bed. Our lips meet, with sighs just before the soft caress, and I reach up to thread my hands into his hair. The separation is never easy but, if I cannot be rid of it, I will appreciate it for the simple fact that it makes these small connections all the sweeter.

I tilt my head back against the pillows as he moves down my throat, his lips describing the slope of tendon and muscle as his hands trail down my arms, following lines of soft light and blurred shadow, to interlace with my own fingers. He kisses along my collarbone to the point of one shoulder and I have to choke back a surge of emotion that closes my throat. He never fails to make me feel sublimely cherished, the god of wealth treating me as though I am the most valuable thing in his domain.

At the stifled noise, he raises his head, concern in the furrow of his brow and I hasten to reassure. The last thing I want him to think is that I am somehow unhappy or displeased with him. 

“I was only thinking,” I whisper with a smile, freeing one of my hands from his and tracing my own fingers over his face, gentle touches along jaw, cheekbones, and long nose, casting new shadows in the candlelight. He kisses my fingertips as they ghost over his lips.

“About what?”

“That, every time you touch me, it’s as if nothing else matters.  _ Every _ time. That you make me feel more valued than all the riches under the earth could ever hope to be.”

He grins, a curious and endearing mixture of mischief and adoration, as he reaches up and takes hold of my hand at his face. “What value does anything else hold against the fact that you are my wife?” He kisses my palm. “Against the knowledge that I have your love?” He places my hand palm down against my chest, his own hand over it. I can feel my heart thumping. “God of the dead, god of wealth… I’d surrender it all and be the god of this heart if it meant we’d never be apart again.” 

The mischief in his eyes gives away that he knows he’s being ridiculous. But I can see sincerity in his gaze and I know he would do it. He would give up everything he is, everything he’s ever known, for me. I would never,  _ can _ never, ask him to do so, but I am touched beyond words to once again see the depth of his devotion.

“Hades…” I whisper, my throat working soundlessly as I try and fail to put my emotions into words. A sweet, gentle smile creases into the corners of his eyes and I know he understands.

“Kore… Sweetness…” The endearments, his names for me, punctuate kisses as he bends down to press his lips against my sternum, “My heart.” He drifts up the swell of one breast, teasing the peak to aching stiffness with lips and tongue, before paying the other the same tribute. He chuckles at my indrawn hiss of breath. “How I’ve missed the noises you make.”

His mouth trails downward over my belly, hands gripping my hips, and I can’t hold in a whimper of anticipation. My legs fall open as I bare myself to him. With this offered invitation, he shifts to lie between them, teasing everywhere against me with nimble fingers. His touch is a herald of where his mouth follows, slipping slowly over belly, hips and thighs. My hands knead into the sheets of the bed, anticipation driving the breath from my lungs in short gasps. I have been aching for him for months and the wait now is almost more than I can bear.

“Kore, look at me.”

I open my eyes with an effort, my eyelids heavy with the need searing through me, fighting the urge to arch back into the pillows. The hot arousal tangling through my nerves, slick through my core, demands answer and it’s all I can do to not writhe against it.

When I manage to look down I see that he lies against me, shoulders cradled between my thighs, his breath warm against my belly, watching. The candlelight glimmers in his silver-white hair like moonrise on a winter night.

“Hades,” I breathe raggedly, “what-” He shakes his head, huffing out a laugh that is tense with his own need.

“I just want to watch your face.”

Before I can ask what he means, his fingers slip against me, against aching flesh. I cannot stop the hoarse cry that bursts from me, even had I cared to. The touch is light, almost too teasing. I will need more, the knowledge is deep and sure and he knows it as well. But for now, just at this moment, this simple contact after months of yearning is more than enough.

My fingers twist into the sheets, my eyes wide, panting as he traces slow touches up and down, back and forth. His fingers circle closer and closer each time to my entrance, but always dancing away again. Finally, I can stand it no longer. 

“Please,” I beg, my hips quivering against the maddening touch.

“Would you like to know one of the things I miss most over the summers?” His voice is quiet. My concentration is shredded between trying to process his question and focusing on the swirling touch of his fingers, a mewling gasp is my only answer.

“The hitch in your breathing and the little noises you make as you’re waiting to be touched. Then, the look of desire and need building in your eyes moment by moment as we get closer and closer to a touch you truly crave. Until finally-”

He slips two fingers inside, his thumb pressing firmly against my hard, throbbing little bundle of nerves and I arch back with a choked scream, pleasure exploding through me and muscles locking in spasm. He grins, his other hand grasping onto my hip and his lips drop a kiss onto the quivering skin of my belly.

“Beautiful.” His fingers slide in and out, curving slowly, as his trail of kisses and warm breath shifts over my navel. I writhe, pleading with my body for what I cannot draw the air to voice. He moves, shifting lower, his next words whispered against his touch that holds me pinned.

“Simply beautiful.”

The brush of his lips arches me forward with a hoarse cry, curling around his head in an instinctive effort to hold him closer. The vibrations of his chuckle make me whimper as his mouth replaces the circling pressure of his thumb and he adds a third finger to the delicious stretch within me. His lips and tongue stoke my shuddering desire, catching the tendrils of arousal and weaving them into a tapestry of white-hot need.

His touch, his lips and tongue, spur me higher and higher, the firestorm of desperate need near to drowning me. I hover on the edge, needing release, craving it, but it remains elusive, just out of reach. This is not quite enough to slake the thirst consuming me. I need more of him than lips, tongue, and touch.

I cup my hands around his head, fingers threading into his hair, pulling gently, trying to articulate what I need as words fail.

“Hades…” He raises his head as I whisper his name. A groan slips from me at the loss of stimulation. It is no matter. I know it will be but a moment as I see understanding flash through the desire in his eyes. He raises up and moves over me and I lock my arms and legs around him with a whimper. The hard pressure of his arousal against my inner thigh, so close to where I need him… My hips buck instinctively, seeking, needing.

“Easy, sweetness,” he rasps hoarsely as he reaches down, “I’ve got you.” A subtle movement, then he is within me and we moan in unison. I hold my breath, savoring the long, slow stretch and slide of our joining. It is a delicious eternity before he is sheathed fully inside, and he watches me wordlessly as he moves. Every surge and flicker of emotion in his eyes is as loud as a shout, his tense face lined in light and shadow.

We have loved each other countless times over the years but this instant never loses its magic. Each time he first comes to rest fully against me, within me, carries a quiver of the first time, a thread of the shocked realization of two halves fusing into a whole.

His arms draw me close, pressing me against his chest as my arms and legs wrap around his shoulders and hips, as though we could merge more fully by will alone. His breath gusts through my hair, carrying wordless murmurs of love. Suspended in the moment, glorying in the feeling of resting within, on, and through each other, we are still. But this cannot remain static. The trembling in his body and the desperate flutters of my inner muscles are sign enough of that.

Still holding me close, he moves, rolling onto his back and taking me with him. As I sit up, astride his hips, he settles and props himself up on pillows, raising his upper body so that he can comfortably draw me down into a kiss. I can taste myself on his tongue.

He grins into the kiss, hips thrusting gently upwards and I groan into his mouth. Another slow movement, then another, is all the spark that the tinder of our desire can stand. With a groan of his own, he bucks hard against me, hands dragging my hips down to meet his thrust. Pleasure explodes like starbursts behind my eyelids and I sit up a little, propping my hands onto his chest for support.

“Oh, Hades…  _ yes…”  _ The words are little more than an exhalation, but it is all the encouragement he needs. With a growl, he begins a hard rhythm. I meet it eagerly, rising and falling over him. There is little subtlety in our movements, little finesse. Need and desire, stifled and teased for so long, can be suppressed no longer and we are consumed.

Our eyes meet and I can see the desperation that fills him. He is close but even now, as ever, he looks to ensure I am taken care of. He needn’t worry. My muscles quiver, hot need curled tight around my spine. It will only take a moment more, a certain-  _ there _ ! I tilt my hips as I come down on him once more, a subtle increase of pressure in just the right place, and the delicious, delirious tension in me shatters. The climax wrenches a cry from my lips as I shudder, release pouring through me in a torrent, and I struggle to keep my eyes open, to watch.

I see the moment he realizes what is happening, his eyes going wide as my muscles clamp down around him, over and over. An almost instinctive flutter of resistance, as though he would continue to deny himself, but it is too much for him to take. With a hoarse cry and his hands clutching hard into my hips, he lets go, thrusting hard once more, his eyes never leaving mine. The sight of him, lost in pleasure, and the surge of his release within me, hot and wet, wrings a harder spasm amid the aftershocks trembling through my body and we groan together. I fall forward onto his chest, strength sapped by the force of my climax and he wraps me into an embrace, tilting to the side and bringing me with him until we rest on our sides on the bed.

He is still within me, still connected, both of us reluctant to separate, even now that we are spent. The light from the candle spills from behind me, casting a golden glow onto his face that pales beside the warm light of love in his eyes.

The long growing season, day after day spent attending to duty and responsibility, night after night lost in lonely, hopeless craving, falls away like the remnants of a bad dream. I cannot escape my fated destiny as the goddess of spring, but neither can this destiny be denied. We are rulers, consort to each other, in the view of the realms. King and queen. But my return home has a deeper meaning. More than the underworld,  _ he _ is my home. More than king. Lover, companion, husband. I am back where I belong.

His words are ragged, breathless, as he chuckles and his lips press against my forehead.

“Welcome home, Kore.”


End file.
